


we came to reinvent the good times and bring them all back home again

by janie_tangerine



Series: but you and I, we've been through this maybe a hundred times before [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (SORT OF NOT EXACTLY?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas Presents, F/M, Gen, M/M, Modern Westeros, Multi, Reincarnation, Robb Stark is a Gift, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, in which you're getting late christmas-ish fic sorry guys I don't do stuff timely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Robb and Sansa go buying gifts together and Sansa isn't at all impressed with what Robb wants to get Theon.</p>
<p>Also, Jaime and Brienne guest star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we came to reinvent the good times and bring them all back home again

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO I was taking christmas prompts on tumblr and of course I'm late haha but anyway, an anon wanted - in this verse - _Robb and Sansa doing some sibling bonding during some sort of wintery Westeros holiday. Also, a little bit of Jamie/Brienne if you can squeeze it in._ It took me one month because I couldn't goddamn decide what Robb was gonna get Theon for the holidays (much thanks to tumblr user buckygreyjoy for helping me out there) but now I'm done so here we go. :D title from the gaslight anthem as usual, nothing belongs to me (yeah I wish), also one day maybe I'm gonna write the Jaime/Brienne backstory fic entirely because I really had fun with it but ONE DAY.

“Robb, you’re not getting him a _new frying pan_ , or at least not while I’m here to stop you.”

Robb swallows, his eyes going from the frying pan in question to his sister – fuck, he still hasn’t quite wrapped his head around the concept that she’s his sister _again_ even if it’s the third time he’s come to Winterfell since that blasted first meeting with his mother six months ago. Sure, Jon and Theon were there all the other times – now it’s just the two of them, because Sansa insisted to come with him as they both had to buy presents for Winter’s End. Robb never exactly bothered to find out _why_ people exchange gifts on the recurring date of the end of the Long Night centuries ago (or why they named _Winter’s End_ a holiday falling smack in the middle of the aforementioned season), also because it’s not as if he ever had to bother with it in the first place – he didn’t have anyone to gift anything to. Well, no, that one year he was rooming with Jeyne Poole he ended up spending most of his allowance on a Backstreet Boys tape he knew she didn’t own – the embarrassment when buying it had been worth it, to be honest, and she had gotten him the only brand new sweater he ever wore until that point, but it’s not as if anyone ever got gifts in the system, and last year he and Theon agreed to skip on that because money was tight and so on.

But this year it’s not as much, and he knows Theon is getting him something, and since the State now gives him an allowance (he’s really going to get Jon Connington something nice since he was the one informing them that there actually was the option to apply for it), he’s set on buying the damned presents. Theon, his mom and sister, Jon, Sansa (he still hasn’t met any of the others yet), Jon Connington, Aegon, Dacey and Jeyne Poole – he doesn’t have a long list but it’s a list, right?

Sansa had volunteered to go with him to buy the ones he didn’t have already (he has Theon’s mom and Asha covered already) the moment he informed her – she said they should go together the next time he came to visit and she had sounded so very excited, his heart had pretty much leapt out of his chest at the idea that she was _that_ happy at the idea to go with him, and can you blame him when he had spent years fantasizing about actually doing something like this with his sister in the modern age?

So now they’re in the only shopping mall in Winterfell, in front of a store selling cookware, and Sansa is looking at him as if he’s grown three heads.

“But he _needs_ a new one? I mean, the one he uses more often is about ruined –”

“Robb, he’s your _soulmate_ , you don’t give soulmates frying pans for Winter’s End. It’s just – the least romantic thing in existence!”

… He supposes that Sansa has a point, but how does he tell her that he wouldn’t even know where to start figuring out something _romantic_?

“I wouldn’t know – I mean, it’s not – an anniversary or something. And he needs the frying pan.”

“I’m telling Jon to get him the frying pan if it means you don’t. Come on, I’m sure we can find something better, can’t we?”

“Uh, well, I – it’s not like I don’t have time. Okay. We can check something else out, I guess.”

“Great!” She looks more excited than he is, which kind of makes his heart ache all over again because he remembers how she used to be in old Westeros and he just wants to weep in joy seeing how in this world she is everything she had thought she could be back in the day. “We’re going to find something much better than frying pans. Gods, I thought you might have been less hopeless this time round but I guess some things never change, huh?”

He hits her side with his elbow without putting that much effort into it and she laughs again, dragging him away from the house utensils section. He follows, letting her drag him by the arm wherever she thinks he might find something _better than frying pans_ – it works, and it doesn’t. In the sense that one hour later she has presents for whichever people from her ballet class on her list, for Jon, for Arya, for their brothers (and he wishes they could be his, too, again, but not for now), their mother (even if she’s still not his in the way it counts, but he hopes she might come around soon) and she’s only missing her father (not his own this time round, Robb supposes), Theon and Jeyne. Robb (who already has bought her a nice blue silk scarf he got for her in White Harbor, since he figured he couldn’t get her present in Winterfell if they went shopping together) has managed a new set of ties for Jon Connington, a couple of books for Dacey and the only Slayer record Aegon doesn’t have, or so his father assured him. Robb doesn’t know how that kid is into metal of all things, he never got the appeal of it, but whatever, as long as he enjoys it. Which means he has still Jeyne, Jon and Theon to go, and he has no idea what to get for the latter two – for Jeyne he does, they just have to find a record store. 

That said, Sansa looks confident they’ll find something and it’s what, five in the afternoon, and he doesn’t have to be back at the bed and breakfast before nine – he figures they will.

“You know what,” she says, adjusting her bags, “we should stop for coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure. There’s a Starbucks over there, we can get a drink, chill for a bit, compare ideas, you know what. We’ve been walking around here for a while and it’s not a serious shopping trip without at least one coffee stop.”

Robb didn’t know of that particular piece of etiquette but who is he to say the contrary? “Fine. Let’s _stop for coffee_. My treat.”

“Robb –”

“Hey, come on, it’s the first time in my life I actually have money I can spend on other people, just humor me.”

For a moment there’s something so very soft in the way she looks at him, and then she laughs and says that fine, sure, he can pay. They go to the Starbucks in question – she has a strawberry frappuccino, Robb gets a caramel one and they go to wait for their cups, which they will most probably have their names written wrong on it.

They wait a couple of minutes, they’re handed their drinks – for once the names are spelled right – and they’re about to look for a seat, except that _that_ ’s when he hears the conversation going on at the other cashier.

“And what’s your name?”

“Brienne,” a female voice replies, and –

“Wait a fucking moment,” he says, and looks at the queue behind him and –

Fuck him. There she is. Brienne of Tarth, a few years older than he remembered her, with shorter hair but still wearing her usual jeans and shirts and coat taken from the men’s section of whichever store she chooses, but she seems fairly less weary than she used to be back when she was his therapist.

And then –

“What about yours?” The cashier asks to the person at her left.

“Jaime, with the _I_ before the _m_ , _thank you_.”

“Oh _gods_ ,” Sansa says, echoing Robb’s thoughts. Right. Because there’s Jaime Lannister right next to her, and Robb feels thrown in for a loop because the last time he saw the man centuries ago he was clean shaven, had long hair and wore armor, and now he’s standing there in jeans, a soft red cardigan, hair still long but not as much as it used to be, a neat beard and _his left hand is holding Brienne’s right_. What?

“Wait,” Robb hisses, “was that a thing way back in the day?”

“It was,” Sansa agrees. “Wait, did you say she remembers?”

“ _She_ does for sure, but wait, I think we don’t have to be the assholes of the situation if somehow he doesn’t. Just – let’s wait until they get here.”

They move a bit out of the way and a moment later both Brienne and Jaime are coming up to the counter.

“And how much bloody sugar did you have in that thing?” Brienne asks, sounding more resigned than anything.

“Wench, live a little, and remember that the last time I took a blood test my sugar levels were lower than usual. Are you sure you don’t want to change that order?”

“ _You_ are drinking that toffee nut thing. It’s not _coffee_.”

“Well,” Sansa says, “ _that_ definitely didn’t change.” She’s smirking not so subtly and Robb isn’t sure he wants to know, even if he knows he eventually will.

He takes a deep breath and moves towards them.

“Er, excuse me, but – Brienne Tarth, right?”

And then she turns towards him and obviously recognizes him – her eyes go wide and then she takes a good look at him, probably assessing how bad off he looks like.

“ _Robb Stark_? Gods, how long has it even been, six years?”

“More or less,” Robb agrees.

“Wait, if you’re in Winterfell does it mean –”

“It’s complicated,” he cuts her, “but more or less. Hey, Sansa?”

Sansa comes forward, waving at the both of them. “Nice meeting you,” she starts, obviously minding that Lannister might not remember –

“It’s very nice of the two of you to ignore the fourth person here,” Lannister cuts her, “but if you’re dancing around the subject because you’re not sure about whether I remember my charming other life some couple millennia ago, you’re all sorely wrong. I see that the modern age is treating you both nicely, isn’t it?”

Brienne openly rolls her eyes without even trying to hide it. “I say we wait until our drinks get here and we find a table for four, how about that?”

They do, and Robb finds out that Brienne actually got transferred to King’s Landing, where she had ended up working for another larger foster home, and they met there because he was _volunteering_.

“You, volunteering?” Robb almost spits his drink.

Lannister shrugs and waves with his right arm, where you can obviously see a metal prosthetic in place of his right hand. “Some dumb life decisions just never change. I went into the army, lost it in action because my CO happened to be named Aerys Targaryen and was as fit for that job as he was fit for ruling way back in the day and when I came back I felt sorry for myself for a year before my brother pretty much forced me into doing _something decent out of all that fucking free time I had_. I went with him actually.”

“Your brother volunteers in orphanages?” Robb can’t wrap his head around that either.

Jaime shrugs. “Well, he remembered everything pretty early, which ruined his relationship with everyone else in the family except for me way before its due time, even if it was bad in the first place. And he said that since our illustrious father kept on cutting the funding for cultural activities someone had to gift some books to those poor motherless kids. Anyway, I went with eventually and it did somewhat help, and then we crashed into each other at some Christmas party they threw for both staff and motherless kids alike.”

“It was the most embarrassing moment of my life,” Brienne groans as she takes a sip of her cappuccino.

“How so?” Sansa asks, a glint in her eye that Robb doesn’t like at all.

“Because after literally crashing against each other while we had trays in our hands, so there was broken glass all around, we just are there staring and then he smirks and says _hey, wench, how much time has it been, centuries_?, and we were under some mistletoe and he about –”

“Gave her the kiss of her life,” Jaime replies sounding very smug. “Every person in the room was _swooning_. And the motherless kids were clapping, all around it was a complete success.”

“You’re terrible,” Brienne states, “you couldn’t be sure if I remembered or not!”

“We were bonding already, wench, I knew you did. Anyway, then she asked to be moved back North and I came with, mostly I think she was trying to make up on whatever she promised you about your records –”

“Wait, what?” Robb wasn’t expecting that.

Brienne shrugs. “I made a promise to your mother back in the day. And I couldn’t keep it properly –”

“Brienne,” Sansa interrupts, “you know Stoneheart wasn’t my mother, and you both found me, and you kept me safe, and actually I should like to know where did Clegane ever end up –”

And that’s when Robb realizes he somehow never told her that _he_ was Robb’s first supplier of alcohol back in the day.

“Er, actually, he works near where I live. I’m sorry, I completely forgot to tell you, but – he works at a night club next to my old foster home, he’s the security guard. Let’s say he used to provide me with the alcohol I couldn’t buy legally if I asked him nicely.”

“What, _really_? Good, now I have an excuse to come visit you a lot sooner,” she says, and her tone promises that he’ll have to give her more details later, but for now she lets it slide. “However, no one blames you for –”

“I know. But I still didn’t keep that promise the way I would have liked. And – I don’t know how things are right now with her –”

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Sansa says, “and it’s probably a good thing.”

“It is,” Jaime agrees.

“Still, I thought helping him out was the least I could do. Also, I hated King’s Landing. When we got back to White Harbor they already moved you, of course, but if it consoles you I did put some of your file back together. Not completely, but –”

“You – you did that?”

“Yes. I have it at my office, when we’re both back you can just drop by and I’ll give it to you.”

Robb feels a knot forming in his throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to –”

“Stark, she does a lot of things she _doesn’t have to do_ , or I wouldn’t recognize her,” Lannister interrupts, and Robb can’t help wincing.

“About that,” he sighs, “it’s really – not Stark yet. If it’s ever going to be.”

“Robb, you know that –” Sansa starts.

“Legally, it’s not. But it’s okay, really.”

“How about you tell me,” Brienne says. “I’d really like to know what you’ve been up since I left. You look fairly better now than you did back then.”

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing you didn’t meet me three years ago,” Robb mutters, and tells them as he drinks his coffee, and he doesn’t shrug Sansa’s hand away when she puts hers above his.

When he’s done, no one says a thing for a few moments as he drinks the last of his drink.

Then –

“Well, shit,” Lannister says, “as if I needed more excuses to _not_ send my dad a fruitcake for the holidays.”

Robb can’t help it – he laughs, even if it’s nowhere near as funny as it could have been, he supposes.

“No, really,” Lannister keeps on, “if it consoles you the only person who even talks to our dad is my sister and we’re not in good relations. Neither is Tyrion.”

“You, not in good relations?” Sansa asks. Lannister smirks.

“Don’t you remember how we were back towards the end?”

“Well, right, but in modern times –”

“My brother remembered everything when he was five.”

“I feel him,” Robb says, shuddering. “I imagine it wasn’t because he met his soulmate?”

“Nah, he’s still looking,” Jaime sighs. “He remembered when my sister told him something particularly cruel which according to him she had already told him at the same age centuries ago. And then I remembered a couple months later when he got himself lost in the family crypts and I went to get him since no one else would, which also had happened way back in the day, and – when Cersei found out I did remember Old Westeros, she said she was waiting for me to catch up, and thing is, I didn’t exactly feel like picking things up where we left off. So – no, it’s been fairly rocky since then. She also was sure we were soulmates and didn’t handle it well when she realized that it wasn’t the case. The one time she and Brienne met, it was fairly fucking hilarious though.”

“It wasn’t hilarious, it was the most embarrassing moment of my life after the time I crashed into you.”

“As in?” Robb asks, even if he’s not sure he wants to know.

“As in, Cersei goes up to her and tells her that she sees two millennia didn’t make her look less like a freak of nature and Brienne tells her it might be the case but she’s made peace with it, and _have you made peace with your Elektra complex_ , and I was about to laugh myself to death.”

“And _that_ is why I don’t drink,” Brienne mutters, a blush on her cheeks.

Sansa is openly laughing. “Well, still not as good as the time Robb met _his_ soulmate,” she says, winking.

“God, no,” Robb groans.

“Really. How did that happen,” Lannister asks, looking way too interested for Robb’s tastes, and he laughs himself almost to tears when Robb shares, and then declares that it sounds exactly just like him and Greyjoy, not that Robb isn’t resigned to people having that reaction at this point.

“Listen, it wasn’t my best moment,” Robb says, trying to salvage the situation, but it’s not really working.

“Yeah, and you want to buy him frying pans as a gift,” Sansa says.

“What’s wrong with that if they need them?” Brienne asks.

“Oh, _finally_ someone with sense,” Robb says the moment Lannister also answers, “Didn’t the modern age put some romanticism into you?”

Sansa just starts laughing some more, and at this point she’s crying and ruining her make-up, but Robb figures it’s a good thing, right?

“Someone has taste here,” Sansa says. “Frying pans aren’t _that_ kind of gift.”

“However,” Lannister keeps on, “if what I remember of the man is accurate, you could get him fucking socks and he’d think it the most amazing gift in existence just because it came from your precious formerly royal hands, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Robb almost chokes on the last of his drink. “Excuse me?”

“Back on the Wall during the Long Night? Every occasion he had to remind people he should have died with you, he would. I’m fairly sure _everyone_ still alive back then knew about that. Don’t look that worried, you’ll sweep him off his feet with whatever.”

Robb groans and doesn’t try to find a retort.

They go back to small talk after that, thankfully, and before leaving Brienne leaves Robb her business card, telling him to give her a call when they’re both back in White Harbor, and Robb watches them leave still holding fucking hands and bickering in hushed tones all the way out.

“Well, that was something,” Robb says.

“No, it was just the two of them. Back during the Long Night they didn’t make a mystery of it. But I’m glad we ran into them – it was nice. And now we have presents to find, get up.”

“Right, general, right,” Robb agrees, and he lets her drag him out.

He buys Jeyne the last Backstreet Boys album, which he’s fairly sure she doesn’t own yet, when they find a record store just next to the Starbucks, while Sansa buys her father and Jeyne some other records as well, and then she stops in front of a clothes shop and declares she’s getting Theon the nice, black sweater in the window – Robb asks if he can’t get it, she replies it’s too impersonal.

Robb still thinks the frying pan was a better idea. But he figures he’s never going to win that battle and so he doesn’t even try to fight it. He does get Jon a nice fake leather black jacket though – it’d look great on him, and it’s his style after all. Right, so he’s just missing Theon. He doesn’t even try to convince Sansa to go inside the next household utensils shop – she glares at him before he can suggest that and moves on. Still, if things Theon actually needs are off the grid and clothes are as well – mostly because he knows Theon’s going to get clothes from both his mom and Asha and Sansa and possibly some of their neighbors – then he’s back at square one. Books don’t seem like anything special, not when Theon buys enough of those on a regular basis and Robb has ended up stealing from his shelves since they moved in together rather than buying novels for himself. As far as music goes he can only think of gag gifts and that’s not really what he wants to go for.

“Right,” he finally says, “so if household utensils aren’t appropriate what is? Because I’m coming short on options here.”

“Well, something more personal. I mean, people don’t look at frying pans and think, ‘oh, they were thinking about me when they decided it was going to be my present’ now, do they?”

“Okay, fine, I’m giving you that one even if he might, but – you, his mom and his sister are giving him clothes and possibly some of our neighbors, he already has enough unread books for the next couple of years, pans are out of the question, what do I even go for?”

“Are you resigned already?” She’s laughing at his plight, which is admittedly a very good look on her, but still. “Don’t worry, we’re going to find something. Also Lannister did get something right.”

“As in?”

“You could get him socks and he’d think it was the best present ever just because it came from you, lighten up some.”

Robb just groans out loud. “Sansa, come on –”

“Not my fault if it’s blatant!”

Robb figures he should just give up on Sansa dropping that particular conversation, not that he’s surprised – if she’s anywhere like she used to be, of course she’d enjoy a nice love story, wouldn’t she? 

He’s still not thoroughly convinced when he glances at his left and stops abruptly.

“Robb, what – oh. _Oh_. Now, that looks more like it.”

Robb doesn’t even glare at her and moves closer to the shop – right, he had excluded clothes, but thing is, he has noticed the way Theon always eyes a specific three-piece suit that’s been in the window of this small shop near their place for ages. Obviously, _small shop_ means that the tailor runs it himself and sews everything himself, which means that anything it sells is above and beyond their means. Maybe before Theon could have saved a few months and put enough together to afford it, but right now, with the two of them and all the extra expenses? Yeah, not a chance. And it’s not even that Theon looks at that longingly. If he did, it means he’d be planning to get it one day. Instead, he stares like he knows it’s off the table for now. Robb had sort of asked him once why he didn’t just buy a cheaper one and Theon had shrugged and said that it’s not like he has that many chances to wear suits so if he had to waste money on it he’d at least get a nice one and it’s not anything he needs anyway, but still. And now Robb’s staring at a black three-piece, very nicely cut, which he’s sure Theon would downright love.

“Is that shop – I mean, I don’t know anything about that stuff, but is it somehow, like, _not cheap_?” Robb grimaces at how it comes out – he sounds like someone who has no fucking clue about the matter, which is actually true.

Sansa just laughs and nods. “Robb, have you even read the name of the shop?”

Robb hadn’t. He does, and –

Well, fuck that. _Tyrell’s_ , of course it’s as high class as it gets in a mall – it never surprised him that in this year and age Olenna Tyrell is a fashion tycoon and anyone in the family who isn’t in the business is in a reality show. Still, their clothes aren’t that pricey all things considered, at least not this particular brand – it’s the affordable chain of stores or so it seems. That said, it’d still be beyond his means – in theory. Because what is drawing him right now is the _sales_ written in red outside the shop window. He comes close and looks at the price of the suit on the outside – huh. It’s half-price. Still a tight fit, but not undoable.

“So, are you getting it?” Sansa asks.

“If they have it in charcoal,” Robb agrees, because Theon probably wouldn’t mind the color but out of all the social workers he’s met in his life who were there on _official occasions_ , not one of them didn’t wear fucking black suits and Robb has developed an allergy to that specific combination.

He smiles and walks inside – the salesperson glances at his worn out, old coat and looks at him strange and good gods Robb feels like he’s fallen straight into that dumb _Pretty Woman_ movie Theon pretends he doesn’t like, but then Sansa walks up next to him and suddenly the woman is all smiles. Well, the resemblance is strong and Sansa’s ballet class has performed on television at some point, she probably recognized her. He asks if the suit outside (which looks fairly similar the one Theon had been eyeing, at least to Robb’s untrained eye) is available in charcoal and with Theon’s measures and for some miracle it is. Robb rounds it up with a white shirt and a grey tie, both of them also discounted, and even if it had cost like the entirety of his other presents put together he doesn’t regret it at all as he walks out of the shop with their extra-fancy gift package bag.

“See,” Sansa says, elbowing him lightly, “you did find something better than frying pans. Please take pictures when he wears it because it would look good on him. Actually, you might think about –”

“Sansa, if he likes suits fine, but you won’t catch me in one over my dead body.”

“ _Robb_!”

“Hey, when she was my therapist Brienne was adamant in saying that learning to laugh about that stuff might help more than you’d think. But really, no.”

“Hey, you’d look great in something nice, you know.”

“Maybe, but –” He sighs, then shakes his head. “Right. Listen, it’s not even that I don’t see the appeal – I mean, I don’t, but that’s not it. But when – back in the day, after they decided I was fit to be in charge – I was always dressed formally. I didn’t realize how – how suffocating it was until at times I just wanted to tear all of that off and go back to normal clothes I could ruin as I saw fit, and possibly go back to, uh, not being in charge, but the more it went on the worse it became and I remembered all of that early enough. The only two times I’ve put on suits in my life they were used stuff from whichever foster home I was in. They’d bundle you into one if you had to meet potential parents. The first time I was six and I about – er, I wouldn’t stop screaming to get me out of that and the potential parents moved on to the next candidate. The second time I was eight and I could handle it somewhat better, and they knew I had issues or whatever they told them, but I just – stood there without moving, I didn’t say anything and I wanted to tear the jacket off. I don’t know if I’d look good in one but I’m not – I can’t wear that stuff. Especially with ties. Both those times I felt like I was going to suffocate and – it’s just a bad idea.”

He takes a breath and immediately regrets saying that, because now she looks crestfallen. Damn it.

“Hey,” he adds, shaking his head, “not your fault or anyone’s, all right? It happened, it’s done, I’m good now, let’s just not go there. Also you were probably four when that happened, don’t even try to feel bad for it.”

“Fine, but you didn’t deserve it. Like you didn’t deserve it back then, but – fine, fine, I’m not touching the topic anymore. Still, who even – I mean, that sounds awfully convenient.”

“What?”

“Supposed potential parents running away at that. I mean, if they couldn’t even handle that I doubt they’d handle a kid at any given time, but – whatever. And by the way, what were you saying about Sandor Clegane being in White Harbor?”

“Not much. He’s a guard at that night club, he still works there and whenever I pass in front of him he congratulates me on not giving hell to my liver anymore, so I guess he wasn’t handing me alcohol out of some perverse sense of satisfaction.”

“Did you ever ask him?”

“No. I suspect that he knew and that he recognized me and he’d know why I’d want it. From what I remember of how he was back in the day, he doesn’t have much higher ground.”

“He got better about it,” Sansa says, not specifying any further, “but – right. I should visit one of these days then, if it’s fine. I mean –”

“Theon has a fold-out chair, it’s a bit cramped and you have to sleep in the same room as us while we share, but of course you’re welcome, just say when you want to.”

“Good. So, are you going to give that stuff out like you bought it or are you asking me if I can come to your bed and breakfast already so we can actually wrap them up? Don’t worry, I’ll do yours as well.”

“Sure we can, actually let’s leave the hell already, this place is starting to feel like a nightmare by now. I’m sure we passed in front of those stairs five times in the last two hours.”

“Please, you loved it,” she says, sounding absolutely sure of that, and thing is –

He’s not even going to try to deny it. Yes, yes he did enjoy every second of that and if she ever wants to do it again he won’t think twice before saying yes.

They head back towards the bus stop dragging their bags along – Robb thinks about Brienne’s card tucked safely inside his wallet and for once he doesn’t feel cold at all as he steps out into the fresh snow covering the mall’s parking lot.

Maybe everything’s still not straightened out, and sometimes it hurts to be in Winterfell without being able to see all of his family, never mind that he still hasn’t met half of them again, but this time is not one of them and if he’s feeling giddy at the idea of actually giving Theon that damned suit, he’s not above letting Sansa see how much exactly.

After all, looking at her, it’s pretty obvious she feels the same.

 

End.


End file.
